


Music City

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Castiel (Supernatural) owns dogs, Castiel travels a lot, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester's Tragic Backstory, Dean is more open about his past, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Grilled Cheese - Freeform, Guitarist Dean Winchester, M/M, Music, Musician Dean Winchester, Nashville, Nature, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Photographer Castiel (Supernatural), Singer Dean Winchester, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Cas, a famous photographer, returns home after a long trip taking photos for his latest project. He wants nothing more than to spend the next day relaxing. His plans change when an enchanting melody is heard from outside. Do his plans have to change, or can he work around the handsome musician who stumbled onto his property?





	Music City

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I saw a post on Instagram and was inspired to write this fic!
> 
> Here is the pic: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bv43Bw1Bc6w/ (thiswildidea has so many beautiful shots on his page. Also, the guy in the photo ADMITTEDLY looks more like Sam and Dean but I'm a creative okay?)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

            The smell of grilled cheese wafts from the griddle and up towards Cas’s nose, triggering a smile and a soft sigh. He shifts it around with the spatula, delighting in the way the bread and butter sizzles and the cheese melts. It’s not the first grilled cheese he’s ever had, but this meal had become part of a ritual of sorts. Grilled cheese is always the first thing he makes when he comes home after a long trip.

            It started when he was younger, because of an opportune accident when his family returned from a weeklong vacation in Appalachia. There was barely anything in their kitchen save the simplest ingredients, so his mother set to work on making seven grilled cheeses for their large family. Time has dwindled the amount of sandwiches needed to one, for himself. And though it’s been years since that first grilled cheese, the sight of it, the smell, and when it’s ready the _taste_ , will fully cement in the reality that he’s home.

            Cas glances around his kitchen, taking it all in. When he got in late last night, he didn’t have anything in mind except his bed. Dropping his bags at the door and shedding his clothes in a messy trail his eyes shut before he hit the mattress. He woke up close to noon, later than usual. Unfortunately, while the teen he paid to make sure his plants were watered and furniture dusted, they hadn’t restocked his fridge nor pantry. Forcing himself into an outfit, Cas drove to the closest supermarket. He didn’t buy much, however, only getting what was necessary for the grilled cheese. He won't be leaving again tomorrow.

            In fact, he doesn’t plan on going on a trip for a long time. His most recent one was already longer than he realized, the fifth month of touring the states dragging on deliriously. He would have went insane in his camper if not for his lovely dogs, Birdie and Bee. Birdie is an American Foxhound, and one of the sweetest girls he knows. She’s also famously lazy. There are countless moments where Bee chased him around in an open field while Birdie lounged wherever the sunlight was strongest. Bee, his Anatolian Shepherd Dog, was Birdie’s opposite. She always needed to be moving in some way, even if just wagging her tail as he drove along the open highways.

            They were as glad to be home as he was. He let them out earlier to roam his wide back yard. His house had no fencing, preferring his home like he did his countryside, wide and sprawling. Why he chose a place so close to the woods it practically rests on the border between civilization and the wild. It might be worrisome to have dogs on their own out there, but Cas trained them well. Even Bee, as stubborn and explorative as she was, never strayed too far from home. His dogs were safe on their own for a while.

            Turning the stove off, his mouth watered. The wait was almost over, and his food would be ready. Cas, mad with hunger, imagines a beautiful guitar accompanying his creation: soft strums and hypnotic chords complementing the beams of light pouring in from a nearby window. Shaking his head, Cas realizes the music wasn’t coming from his imagination but nearby. It becomes clearer where when a whiskey-smooth voice accompanies the strumming. Distracted from his food, Cas follows the sound towards his open back door.

            He walks to the edge of his deck, captivated by the sight below.

            A man in a denim shirt and khakis plays his guitar to an audience of two, Birdie and Bee. Birdie rests on the stranger’s leg with her eyes closed while Bee wriggles her back along the grass a few inches away, next to a pair of Birkenstock sandals he’s sure belong to the mystery musician. There are many thoughts running through his head, but the one that takes precedence over all is, ‘ _I need to take a picture_.’

            He rushes into his house and over towards his bags, glad his contempt for cleaning means his equipment isn't packed away. Unzipping the case, Cas takes out and readies his camera. The large, black piece of carbon was quite expensive – but a necessary cost to be able to do his job. Switching out the memory card and fixing the lens, Cas hurries back to find the scene like he left it. Returning to the edge of his deck, Cas leans over and begins taking pictures.

            The lens snap and flutter, the whirring sound of it setting itself up for another a constant flurry as he presses persistently on the button. He tries different angles, focusing on certain parts and blurring the others. In all the photos, the man’s face remained hidden. No matter where he turned, Cas couldn’t get a good shot of it. Until the musician glanced up, noticing Cas for the first time. He swung his face his way, cheesing for the camera.

            It nearly slipped from his hands. He is unprepared for the sheer gorgeousness presented to him. Looking at his face is like staring at a mountain or canyon wall, the lines carved in by God themselves. Freckles dust his pale skin like a starry night, bright on his cheeks and hidden behind the shadow of his beard. His green eyes reminded Cas of a summer, years ago, in the wilds of Montana. He was there for his first professional photo, the shot taken underneath a large tree where he captured its overarching verdant canopy. Somehow his eyes shine brighter than even Mother Nature’s wondrous creations. His lips stretch wide and snow-white teeth peek out from behind plush lips. Recovering his breath, Cas continues his task. After a few more pictures, he sets the camera down. Now, seeing him without the barrier of his camera lens, Cas is aware even the high definition cannot do him justice.

            “Howdy,” the man says, still strumming, “I take it these hounds are yours?”

            Cas nods. Clearing his throat, he says, “Yes… as is this house. And this yard.”

            “Figured,” the man chuckles along with the notes he plays, southern drawl sliding along the strings, “I doubt a robber would take the time to shutterbug like you just did.”

            Blushing, Cas grips tighter at his camera. “Do you do this often?” he asks, “Playing in strangers' yards?”

            “No,” he smirks, “Sometimes I sit at the park and play. Today I needed a change of scenery.”

            “What brought you to my neck of the woods?”

            “Well, I was looking for some inspiration, so I drove out to the woods to hike a little. With the weather warming up I figured it was as good a time as any.”

            “Spring in Nashville is always a lovely time,” Cas agrees, smiling, “It’s why I made sure to come back as it was starting.”

            “You travel a lot?”

            Cas nods. “For business, for pleasure… luckily my career path allows me to combine the two often.”

            “Doing what you love… the true American dream,” the man agrees, “Anyway, I was minding my own business, notes flying around my head like mosquitos when I spotted the strangest thing. This dog over here,” he gestures to Bee, “whipping up a storm something fierce.”

            “So you followed her?”

            “I’ve always been told I’m too curious for my own good,” the man says, shrugging, impishly glancing back up at Cas, “got me into all sorts of trouble. Although I wouldn’t so much as say it was trouble… call ‘em interesting opportunities.” He stops suddenly, frowning. “Where are my manners? The name’s Dean.”

            “Cas.”

            “That’s a nice name,” Dean says, “It wouldn’t happen to be short for something would it?”

            “It would…” He doesn’t say anything further, enjoying the confusion boiling beneath Dean’s brows.

            “You ain’t gonna tell me?”

            “You seem like a creative fellow,” Cas tells him, “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

            “Maybe I’ll have a better chance at guessing if I could get a better look at you?”

            It’s an invitation, as plain as the color beige. But for what, Cas does not know. He’s seen the gleam in Dean’s eyes before from men and women alike. It’s been forever since he entertained the idea of returning it. He does more than that.

            “Sure,” Cas says, “Let me go grab my lunch, though. Haven’t eaten at all today.”

            “Of course,” Dean says, plucking at his guitar once more, “Wouldn’t want someone as handsome as you to starve on me.”

            He’s lucky to duck back inside, so his blush can roam free across the prairies of his face. Cas breathes deep while he leaves his camera on his table and sets his grilled cheese on a plate, corralling his emotions under control before stepping outside once more.

            Now that he’s past his deck, Cas can appreciate todays’ weather. There’s a slight breeze rolling along, cooling the very present heat radiating from the sun. It warms everything it touches, from his exposed shoulders and legs to the very grass beneath his feet that tickles his toes. Cas sits cross-legged across from Dean, Birdie between him. She lifts her head, blinking at him, and then lays it back down where it was.

            Dean laughs, stroking her fur. “She’s not much of a guard dog, is she?”

            “Birdie moves for no one.”

            “Birdie,” Dean repeats, smiling, “Cute name. What about the livewire behind us?” Bee, growing bored of playing in the grass now chases a butterfly. She yips and bites at where it was, never quite catching it. They laugh at her antics.

            “Her name is Bee,” Cas says.

            “Birdie and Bee…” Dean hums, thinking, “Your name wouldn’t happen to be related to the outdoors, now would it?”

            “Nope,” Cas chuckles, “Besides, I don’t think there’s _anything_ related to nature that begins with ‘c’, ‘a’, and ‘s’.”

            Dean frowns, “There’s gotta be. Like…” In his silence he plays a simple melody. “I can’t think of anything.”

            “I could always just _tell_ you if you –“

            “No, no, you said to guess, so I’mma guess. Give me a minute.”

            Cas bites into his sandwich, moaning around it. Chewing, he opens his eyes to find Dean staring at him. His fingers paused halfway through a strum, the strings pulled back tight and waiting for release. Freckles are much more prominent as his cheeks tint red, from what Cas can only guess is an extended amount of time in the sun. He skews his head to the side and swallows. “Everything all right?”

            Shaking from his trance, Dean offers a wobbly smile. “Sure, it’s just my thinking face…” He looks to the sandwich, “Must be a really good snack?”

            He shrugs, “I’m not the best cook… but who can screw up a grilled cheese?”

            “My brother can,” Dean chuckles, “I swear, if I wasn’t such a gift in the kitchen we'd have been helpless.”

            “You cook a lot?”

            “Had to, at first. Busy dad… dead mom… got real creative growing up. But I enjoy it, so I never really minded.”

            “Did you take over a lot of what your mother did after her passing?”

            “Someone had to,” Dean says, bitter notes of melancholy tainting the music. The melody drag out, much longer and heavier. “Dad did all he could to make sure we had a roof over our head… some nights shuffling through the door still covered in rust and oil. Other times he was as drunk as a skunk and passed out in his truck.”

            Not knowing how to respond, Cas shrugs out his best attempt at levity. “Sounds like the kind of background befitting a folk musician.”

            His often-faulty sense of humor works, and brings a smile back onto his face. “Yeah, good to know my messed up childhood can get me through an album or two.” They laugh, the music from Dean’s guitar once again sweet like fresh honey.

            “Have you been at this long?”

            “No, just started almost a year ago when I moved here.”

            “Really?” Cas asks, surprised, “I mean, you sound fantastic. And this – talking to me, playing so beautifully – I can barely eat _and_  read a book at the same time.”

            Dean snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, when you spend three decades with an instrument you pick up a few things.”

            “Thirty years? That’s a long time…” Cas bites his lip. “If you don’t mind me asking, why choose now to begin your music career.”

            He sighs, as if Cas’s question was as familiar as a recurring nightmare. “Didn’t really get much of a chance, earlier on. Barely graduated high school… and I had to get a job to help support my brother and his dreams of being some big fancy lawyer.”

            “Is he?”

            “Yeah, out in California.” Dean smiles, eyes glossing over like his mind wanders out of the present and into a memory. “Didn’t actually have to use any of the money I saved up, really. Won a huge scholarship to a school out there on the coast. Gave him some so he could find a nice place to live, but the rest went untouched.”

            “I’m guessing something else happened, though?”

            Dean nods, a chord jarring the peace blanketing them. “Dad got sick… liver problems. Had to funnel Sammy’s college fund into his medical bills and everything. Those were some pretty heavy years, especially towards the end… if it weren’t for…” he draws into himself at that. Birdie notices, once more sitting up. She moves, stepping over Dean’s leg to curl up even closer to him. Dean breaks from the past when he feels her slide into the open space between his legs. Smiling, he pets her.

            Cas furrows his brow, chewing. “If it weren’t for what?”

            “Around the same time my dad was fading, and he was all wired up, a woman was brought in. She and my dad’s room were pretty close. Every day another woman and a small boy would visit, checking up on her. Sometimes the boy would sit by his lonesome in the hall outside with the door closed, and I’d get up from my seat and chat with him. There wasn’t a lot I could do there while dad slipped in and out of consciousness, so I made a friend. After seeing him for probably the fourth or fifth time, I got the story from a nurse.”

            “The lady in the other room was his mom, the woman visiting with him someone from the State. It didn’t look like she was going to pull through, and they were trying to get the paperwork set up to put him into the system.”

            “That’s… that’s awful.”

            “I know,” Dean says, “S’why I didn’t let it happen.” At Cas’s wide eyes, Dean giggles. “Let me explain! I found the social worker and talked with her about adopting little Jack. She wasn’t sure, but introduced me to the mom, Kelly, anyway. We hit it off well enough she agreed to let me take over as Jack’s guardian.”

            Cas smiles, “You’re a good man, Dean.”

            Compliment unexpected, Dean flits his gaze away and preoccupies his twitching fingers with his guitar once more. “No, ‘m not… just a guy who knows what it’s like to lose a mom young. It’s not like there weren’t any troubles… raising a child’s a lot of hard work.”

            “I wouldn’t know,” Cas shrugs, “I was the youngest out of five siblings. When my parents had me it seemed almost effortless.”

            “You telling me you never sowed the seeds in your youth?”

            Cas shakes his head. “There was never any time or desire… my brothers and sisters have kids – being an uncle is more than enough to satisfy my cravings for child rearing.”

            “I wouldn’t trade it for the world, though,” Dean sighs, drifting off again, “Raising Jack, being there through all the highs and lows… it was the right choice for me. If I didn't have Jack I don't know what spiral I would have turned down...” Cas agrees, watching as Dean glows with an unknown shimmer as he thinks about his son. The sight nearly makes Cas wish he _did_ have the urge to start a family. But, as he reminds himself, the stars never aligned to birth that need. In all his travels, he came across nothing that could change his mind. Dean, however, has him considering many new things today.

            “How old is Jack now?”

            “College age,” Dean tells him, “Flew the nest to the same place my baby bro went to, actually.”

            “Interesting,” Cas hums, “So I’m guessing it was because your nest was so ‘empty’ that you decided to become a musician?”

            “Not at first,” Dean admits, embarrassment coloring his face, “When Jack left I kinda… floated. Didn’t really have much going on in my life ‘cept my guitar, my car, and my job. When he came back for winter break I had nothing to tell. It was him who encouraged me to make the change. Said that all his life I kept pushing him and inspiring him to chase after _his_ dreams, that I should have the chance as well.”

            “His entire break we puzzled over things I could do. Up in the attic he found an old leather notebook I used to write in from time to time. Nothing special, some dumb lyrics and song ideas… he thought they had potential. Especially when he sent them to Sam…” Dean rolls his eyes, smiling the way Cas does when exasperated with his family. “Said with the way I play I could be a musician. ‘Cept I wasn’t gonna go join them out in California… that’s not my style. Nashville… now that’s another story.”

            “I’m very happy that’s the case,” Cas says, grinning, “Otherwise we may never have met.”

            “Yeah, yeah…” Dean meets his gaze for a beat before dropping it. “Look, ‘m sorry if I took up your time. Pretty sure you weren’t expecting to listen to me spittin’ to the wind.”

            “You’re right, I didn’t…” Cas tells him, “but I’m _glad_ I did.”

            Chuckling, Dean still doesn’t look up from his guitar. “Good. Because usually I have to charge people to hear my stories.”

            “And I don’t usually allow my backyard to become a concert space…” They settle into a sort of silence after that. Dean provides an upbeat soundtrack while Cas finishes his meal. He offers up a bite to Dean who tears into it with a grin. Chewing, Dean sings. “Makes a mean grilled cheese/As light as the breeze/Cas won’t tell me his name/Because it’s probably lame!”

            “Shut up,” Cas giggles, shoving at Dean. He continues, even louder and with worse lyrics than before. When Dean rhymes his name with a body part, he gives in. “ _Castiel_.”

            Dean stops, “What?”

            “My full name… it’s Castiel.”

            “Castiel… that’s –“

            “Weird?”

            Dean smiles, reaching over to squeeze his ankle. “ _Pretty_. Like you.” Despite Cas’s blush, Dean carries on. “So? Name like that’s got to have a meaning, don’t it?”

            He nods and clears his throat. “It’s the name of an angel.”

            “ _Religious_.”

            “My family were more fanatical about the culture than the actual religion,” he says, “Both being professors of art history at Columbia.”

            “New York City?” Dean asks, “You’re a city boy? What’s a boy from the Big Apple doing down here in Nashville? I thought that place was supposed to have _everything_.”

            “It has _too_ much,” Cas says, “And that’s why I moved. I prefer a… _simpler_ life, closer to nature. Connecting with it and photographing it has always been a passion of mine since I was small. My parents would take us on yearly vacations and I’d always run off to explore on my own. Mom used to say I wasn’t happy unless there was dirt on every inch of my clothes…”

            “We wouldn’t have gotten along when we were young,” Dean decides, smirking, “I hated getting dirty. Would freak out if the slightest drop of mud splashed onto my shirt. Had to get over that pretty fast when I became a mechanic.”

            “And where do you stand on it now that you’re a musician?” Cas asks.

            Dean drags it out, tapping arrhythmically at his chin. “’M used to it, I suppose, especially now that I’ve moved. The worse I had to deal with back in Kansas was dust. Here in Tennessee there’s a lot more ways of getting down and dirty.” His wink doesn’t go unnoticed, and Cas responds with a hearty chuckle.

            “Yes, I suppose.” Cas leans back on his hands, stretching under the sunlight. He feels Dean’s gaze wash over him, enjoying the spotlight. Cas can’t pretend he didn’t hear the stumble of notes when he puffed his chest and craned his neck to the side.

            They sit like that for a while. Cas listening as Dean stops playing randomly and begins singing a song. It’s enchanting, a haunting melody about growing up too son and carrying the weight of the world on one’s shoulders. About being unable to replace what was taken, but still trying your best. When Dean’s voice trails off, Cas turns to him again.

            “You have a beautiful voice.”

            “It’s okay…” Dean says, frowning, “I mean, for my age yeah. There’s a lot of people who’ve been doing this for much longer, who started earlier…”

            “But none of them have the same story that you have to tell,” Cas continues, frowning, “You’re very admirable.”

            “Cas…”

            “Yes, you are,” he says, “All that you’ve done, what life has thrown at you and the choices - the sacrifices - you made, and _still_ finding the courage and strength inside to start over? There are so many others who wouldn’t even dare think of doing that. I believe you’re going to go far… especially with how hard you have worked.”

            Dean sets his guitar down for the first time since they’ve met. Bee finally pays them notice again, dropping a stick and sniffing at it. Birdie snores overtake the quiet now that Dean stopped playing. He scratches at his neck. “Are you always this kind to strange men who wander into your yard?”

            “No,” Cas says, “Usually I call the police… but you’re special.”

            Tugging at his sleeve, Dean cautiously glances up at Cas. “You… you wouldn’t mind if I wrote a song about you?”

            Cas’s heart skips a beat, then doubles to make up for that momentary lapse. “You… really? Why?”

            “I said I came out here for inpsiration,” Dean shrugs, fighting back a grin, “And I found it.”

            He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t scoff at his words. Instead Cas thinks it over, debating. His phone vibrates, and an idea comes to mind. “Okay,” he says, “you can. _But_ _only_ if you let me post a picture of you on my Instagram account.”

            Dean raises a brow. “Odd exchange…”

            “Sometimes people don’t like to have their pictures shared,” Cas rambles, twisting his phone in his grip, “And you were a perfect model, those pictures I took earlier stunning… plus as a musician you’d probably benefit from the exposure so –“

            “Cas,” Dean laughs, grabbing for his hands, “Sure. You can post the picture, with blessings, bells, and everything.”

            “Okay…” he glances at his phone, still nervous, “Can I have your handle?” At Dean’s blank stare, he continues. “Your username… you _do_ have an Instagram right?”

            “Ye-yeah,” Dean says, “Kinda had to, like you said. Don’t know how to use it much, but my son showed me the basics. Here,” he grabs Cas’s phone, “let me…”

            Cas lets Dean use his phone. It’s a strong sign of trust, since Instagram is a medium in which he uses to grow his audience. His last book deal came about because a publisher scrolling through his profile one lazy afternoon. He trusts Dean enough to know he won’t mess with his account. After some time, he hands it back to Cas.

            “It’s a simple name, really, DWinchester67,” Dean says, picking his guitar up again, “And… I hope I wasn’t too forward in also adding my name to your contacts?”

            Cas barely forms words around the lump in his throat. He whispers, “Not at all.”

            “Good.” Dean stands, then, stretching. Confused, Cas watches as he walks over to his Birkenstocks, slipping them on while Bee dances around him. Birdie rolls over into the spot he vacated, still sleeping.

            Startled into action when Dean slips the guitar strap over his chest, Cas shoots up. “Where are you going?”

            “The time,” Dean says, tight-lipped, “I didn’t plan on being out here so late… I have a gig later that I need to get ready for. And if I want to amble my way back to my car before sundown I gottta hit the trail now.”

            Cas nods, a disappointed note vibrating off his vocal chords. Dean takes notice of his expression and beams soft like sunlight at him. “It’s at this place called the Roadhouse… two shows – one at nine and another at eleven. I’m sure if you mention me to Ellen or Jo at the bar they’ll give you a discount on your drinks.”

            He grins. “I’d love to see your show.”

            “Which one?” Dean asks, “…So I know which to prepare a special encore for, s'all.”

            “Are you sure it’ll be special if you do it for both shows?”

            Dean chuckles. “I like you something fierce, Cas.”

            “I feel the same way.”

            Holding his hand out, Dean says, “Until tonight?”

            “Tonight.” Cas squeezes Dean’s hands, the calloused fingers closing around him like he were the neck of a guitar. He drags it away, them dancing as if trying to strum Cas’s skin. The feeling of their joined hands stays with Cas, even when Dean disappears behind the trees.

            Cas slumps back down onto the grass, Birdie and Bee stepping their way over to him. Bee picked up Cas’s discarded plate, holding it in her mouth like a Frisbee. Laughing, Cas takes it from her and stares at the crumbs he left.

            He wasn’t home until he had a grilled cheese. Today that ritual changed, because grilled cheese can’t compare to the feeling of Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? I loved it, and hope you did too! Let me know by dropping a kudos/comment below!


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